Letters To My Original DNA Source
by Epitome of Randomness
Summary: "Max, I'm alive. I made out with Omega...Dammit, Freud." Max II writes a letter to Max I. Or attempts to. Sort of sequel to "and then."


**Missed me? I haven't.**

**This is a sort of follow up to **_**and then **_**which you should read because well…well, there isn't a reason, but I did make someone cry with it so THERE.**

**Please. Also, it makes sense with Max II's new name.**

**For Jacqueline, so she stops whinging about me not writing.**

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine. **

_**Letters To My Original DNA Source**_

_Munich, Germany, about five years after Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports.*_

Dear Max.

To Max.

Hey, Max.

Max.

_Hmmm. Go with the niceties._

Dear Maximum.

It's me, other you. Max II. Yeah. You thought I was dead, or you were pretending it. Thanks for not looking for me

_even though I really would have appreciated it in the first month, you bitch. I did help you escape, you know._

So, here I am, writing to you. I'm in Germany, still, living in Munich now with a couple of other experiments. Well, one. Munich's nice. Good shopping. I like shopping now. I used to hate it, but sometimes it's nice to have nice things.

_Check out the double usage of nice and gaze, in envious envy at my verbosity. _

You're still massive here. And there, in America, and everywhere I guess.

It's so nice you and Fang finally got hitched. I'd say you were a bit young but 18 is alright. Nice dress. I liked the sneakers, they really went with it.

I am writing for a reason. I think, sometimes-

_Guh._

Dear Maximum,

It's your clone. I'm in Germany, still. I haven't left since Lendeheim got blown up and Shit Got Real.

_Jesus._

Max,

I'm alive. I made out with Omega.

_Dammit, Freud._

Max,

I'm alive. I made IT out with Omega – he dragged me out of the castle, I dragged him two and half miles through the forest. I got kind of lost. But he's fine and I'm fine. You're no doubt absolutely thrilled to hear that.

_Don't be bitter._

_Um. _

Hey Max,

Who's your favourite Beatle? It's a pretty important question, especially since we share identical DNA. Is musical preference encoded in our alleles?

*It was subtitled: 'Now With Extra Short Chapters, For Those With the Attention Span of a Chipmunk on Speed.'**

**Said people with said attention spans stopped reading the title after 'Extreme' so it was a truly tragic wanton waste of ink.

* * *

"Stop sighing. It is so irritating."

"You love it."

"You broke your pencil. Are you annoyed?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Look at the scene. I'm writing a letter. So-"

"You don't know how to write?"

"Nope, never learned." Bea threw a ball of paper at her flatmate, who caught it without glancing up from 'An Extended* History of Time.'

"That is rude."

"You get it!"

"I am more than an extremely pretty face. Look, let me see it."

"No."

"Bea."

"Omega."

"There is no point in you getting stressed over something as simple as a 'Hello, I'm alive and I'd like to meet you on civil grounds,' letter."

"I missed that class. I was busy training."

"Take a break. You think too loud."

*Full title: "An Extended, Backbreakingly Long and Overly Verbose History of Time." It was subtitled 'Now With Extra Small, Double-Smeared Type, and Absolutely No Pictures.' One wonders how it was even published. **

** Answer: By Bloomsbury.

* * *

To my dearest Max.

Hey, original self.

Sup, DNA-source?

Dear Max,

I'd like to meet up with you, I really would. Not to duke it out, or kidnap anyone or replace you. I just want to see where I sort of came from. You put that plea out online for any surviving mutants to come forward. Well, here I am, back from the supposed grave.

_Supposed cremation? They did blow the castle up, after all. Too many kids were breaking in for dares…_

Liebe Max,

Wie geht's? Mir geht's gut, für ich bin schwanger. Ja. Ich weiß.

_Be serious. I don't think that's appropriate for a first letter._

Konnichiwa, Max!

Salamat Pagi, Max!

* * *

"Stop being an idiot."

"How can you tell?"

"You're making those stupid pencil flourishes, and you have an Italian dictionary open."

"Right."

* * *

Dearest Maximum,

I am no longer known by the name Max II. Since about two years ago, I'm Bea. Bea von Beta

Ok, it's Beatrice Adler, but still. How are y'all? Fang knocked you up yet? You got him in the end, but at least I can spell-

"Bea…"

"FINE. I'm going." She grabbed her coat and stormed out of the flat.

"You forgot your keys." Omega announced to no one.

To my dearest Maximum,

We should close this space. I'd really like to meet you… : ) You see I woke this morning, prepare to live without a care, but realized I should know you, as we share the same hair

_and DNA, and genomes, and mother, and ABILITY TO FLY and_

I'm not that same person, the girl you used to know. I'd like to meet you on equal terms unlike old me, seven years ago…

_Where on earth did that come from?_

Max,

We should meet. I really want to know you, but not in the biblical sense.

_That almost works._

Max-

It's Max II. I really want to meet you. Not as enemies, or antagonists, or foils. I'd like to know how you're doing. I am the closest thing in the world to you, remember?

_Something like that._

_

* * *

_

"Omega!" she bashed on the door. "Come read my drafts!"

He opened it, still clutching "An Extended, Backbreakingly Long and Overly Verbose History of Time: Now With Extra Small, Double-Smeared Type, and Absolutely No Pictures."

"How many are there?"  
"Seventeen."

"And how long are these seventeen drafts?"

"Not that long."

"But this is interesting!" He hefted his book, spraining his wrist in the process.

"Read. Them."

* * *

Hey.

_Good start._

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to contact you…

MAXIMUM!

Some call me Max II, but you call me Ishmael. Bitch.

_Perhaps not._

* * *

"None of these."

"What?"

"Bea, you need to actually, you know, put down what you're thinking."

"I am, look at the italics!"

"No, that's you attempting humour."

"But-"

Omega pointed to the desk. "Just write what you know." He turned back to his book.

"I just don't know. Maybe I should like, let sleeping dogs lie. After all, we've done fine without each other for so long. In fact, we only do fine when we don't talk-"

"I wonder that you will still be talking, Lady Disdain: nobody marks you."

"Shut up."

"Only if you will."

* * *

Max-

My favourite Beatle is Ringo. I just love his drumming face, you know?

_The hell?_

Dear Max,

It's Max 2. How are you? I'm doing alright. I'm still in Germany, actually, living in a city.

Sorry it's taken me so long to contact you. It's hard to write to someone you've tried to kill

_Probably shouldn't bring that up._

Hey,

It's Max II. Yep, I did survive. Barely, at first. The first month was the worst. I was hiding out in the forest with a broken arm and a deadweight mutant-

* * *

"Did you just insult me?"

"How can you tell?"

"You still mumble when you write."

"Right."

"Want to read it to me?"

"No, I think I'm doing OK with this…"

"Just be honest."

"I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick: nobody marks you."

* * *

Hey.

Sorry it's taken me so long to contact you. It's Max II, but I hate that name. You and Jeb gave it to me, but I don't blame you. When I was in the lab, I was b, or rather, Bea. M-r1d3b. Omega called me b, and so everyone did.

Off topic.

It's Beatrice now. I like Beatrice, but Omega still calls me Bea.

Yes, I live with him. Yes, I am still in possession of my limbs.

How are you? I saw you in the newspapers – I'm so happy for you and Fang. You know, at the lab they had this other guy all set up for you, but one day someone accidentally pressed the wrong button and it was terminated. Don't you hate that?

I did like the dress, and the sneakers were great.

ANYWAY. Sorry, I ramble. A lot.

You said you'd like to meet the other mutants, the ones that survived. I saw you met Max III, briefly. She was nice, but something went wrong when she was spliced as a fetus. We knew she wouldn't survive off life support but she just wanted to fly…

* * *

"Bea?"

"Yeah?"

"Coffee?"

"Please."

But it would be cool. Omega and I are flying (on a plane) to the US in September. Octoberfest is starting up and it's fun for a few days, but we're right next to a hotel and well…tourists. Also, we're meeting with Jeb. It's a shame you two don't speak anymore.

But anyway, Omega's cool with making a stop in New York, New York if…

Yeah. Write back, or call. My number's in the Yellow Pages, under Adler.

I'd really like to see you.

-Bea.

* * *

"Any reply?"

"Nah. I wasn't expecting one. Have you got the tickets?"

"Yes, and the passports."

"Does Jeb know why we're coming to see him?"

"If he did, he would have flown _here_. Come on. We'll miss the train."

The pair stepped outside on the landing, and as Omega locked the door, Beatrice was tapped on the shoulder.

"Frau Moser?" she asked.

The old woman smiled and handed her a letter. "This came in my mail. It's for you, though."

"Danke, Frau, vielen danke."

"Have a good time on your trip, you two."

Omega nodded stiffly.

Beatrice looked at the postmark and grinned.

"So, we're making that stop, are we?"

* * *

Dear Beatrice,

I'd really like to see you too.

-Max.

P.S. Omega? You're going to have to explain that one to Fang…

* * *

**Well, here I am, back from the grave and Germany. I haven't updated in what, six months? It's got to be that…**

**Anyway, if anyone spots the song parody I will be very impressed and you shall receive virtual cookies and kudos… : ) Also, Shakespeare references. I know they're glaringly obvious, but WITHOUT GOOGLE why don't you tell me what play they're from?**

**And Max II's new last name? Oh, guess. **

**Loving the new Sherlock show, by the way :D**

**-Nicola.**

**Word count: 1803**

**Next chapter up: It's a oneshot.**


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